


a little flame, easily put out

by tobalance



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Infidelity, M/M, Non-Famous Family Members As Characters, Not Beta Read, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 17:15:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14085744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobalance/pseuds/tobalance
Summary: “Your name is a prayer.”





	a little flame, easily put out

“Last time.” His breath warm against José’s neck. “This has to be the last time.” Words spoken not so long ago. An hour at most. 

The time before had been the last time too, he remembers. But this time it really is over. He knows it - knew it the minute James had finished, collapsing on top of him near breathless. He’d tried to push himself up and away to remove the tie holding José to the bed, beneath James.

“Leave it,” he’d pleaded. “Just leave it. For now. Just…”

James had. It had bought José this hour. This time to watch the drip and feel the weight of James on top of him. One last time. 

Drip. 

It’s coming from the ice formed on the inside of the window. He’s never seen ice do that before. 

Drip. 

The condensation along the window ledge had created a puddle. He watches drops slide occasionally over the edge of the windowsill through a small crack in the lip and down, down, down in a single file line. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

Over. They were over. James would wake up, eventually. He’d wake up and get in his truck. He’d drive too fast through the snow. Back to Nashville. Back to the hospital and the NICU and Jess. 

José would go back too. Away from the ugly flower pattern comforters warn down to threads. Away from rooms with radiators rattling endlessly against the penetrating chill. Away from the drip. 

Drip. 

He can’t take his eyes off it. One hand still blessedly tied to the bedpost the other running cautiously, dangerously through Jame’s hair. James can’t wake. José isn’t ready. He does it anyway. Compelled. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

James is so solid against him. Passed out he doesn’t support himself at all. José is pinned like this. Tied and pinned. Unmoving. Unchanging. Solid. 

Drip. 

“They’re both so tiny! They both fit on my chest,” José recalls the conversation, remembers hearing the noise of the highway in the background nearly drowning out Jame’s words. 

“They said studies show they thrive like that. When they can hear your heartbeat,” as he’d taken the exit. 

“They do better together. They don’t like to be separated. That first night in separate incubators, they said it was distress…” as he’d pulled into the parking lot. 

“Last time,” as he’d entered. 

Last time. 

Drip. 

The path of the water is old. Where the water slides down yellow paint is both faded and peeling away. This nightmarish room. The halfway point for them both. The place where water drips down onto the cracked light socket. The one pulled a bit from the wall. 

Drip. 

A sound like a sizzle is drowned out by the radiator and the memory of words that haunt him, rob him of his precious time. 

Sparks. 

“Candelita.” José whispers it because he’s not ready even as the small flame dances. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

It doesn’t stop. 

“Please,” he begs desperately, lowering his chin to rest his cheek against James’s hair. Still the flame dances, teasing. 

“Wicked,” it hisses. 

“Please,” José begs again. Maybe G-d will hear. Maybe G-d will answer. 

“You can always ask G-d,” he remembers James saying. “Sometimes the answer is: No.”

Drip. 

This can’t end. Not yet. He’s not ready. It’s too soon. 

He closes his eyes and the image of the flame is gone but the memories are still there, playing out. He hears himself tease, “Christian because he’s Christian. Makes sense. Other kid no going to be Christian, huh?”

“It means warrior,” the memory answers. James’s voice echoing down the phone line. 

“What James mean then?”

With his eyes closed he can’t see the flame still dancing, licking it’s way up the wall. 

“James means supplanter. Heel-grabber. I already know Candilitia.”

“And José?”

He opens his eyes and now there is both the fire and the memories. He wants more but he can’t have it. James has to go. They have to survive this, somehow.

“Wake up. Fire. Wake up!”

“Your name is a prayer.”

“Wake up! Wake up!”

“It means: May G-d give increase.”

He just wants more time. But James is up and putting out the fire. 

Now they are over. 

Down the windowsill through the crack in the lip following the path of a scorched mark the water still slides. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

Drip.


End file.
